


muggle living

by meshtams



Series: Muggle Living [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bisexual Harry Potter, Character Study, Desi Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Gay Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter in the Muggle World, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Neighbors, POV Alternating, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Harry Potter, POV Third Person, Pre-Slash, Smoking, draco listens to sufjan and fleet foxes, draco malfoy has stick and poke tattoos, draco's favorite animals are ferrets, this doesnt include their getting together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:55:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28015065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meshtams/pseuds/meshtams
Summary: draco never expected to survive the war. so when he not only survives but finds himself more or less free, he enjoys his new life in the muggle world.harry never had a chance to be himself before now, so disappearing into the muggle world is a relief.chapter 1 is draco, 2 is harry and 3 is third person when they meet again
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Muggle Living [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2052993
Kudos: 23





	1. POV Draco

**Author's Note:**

> ok so, i know that sufjan stevens and tfb and all that weren't rlly a thing back when this was set but like lets just pretend ok

I was sprawled out across my sofa, one leg hooked over the back and the other half hanging off the edge. My record player sat in the corner, playing my favourite song over and over, spelled to just keep skipping back as it ended.

Taking a drag off of my cigarette, I tipped my head back, blond hair fanning out onto the sofa cushion. “The only thing that keeps me from cutting my arms, crosshatch, warm bath, holiday inn after dark.” My voice rang out even louder than the record, scratchy from too many cigarettes and not enough use, but I was forever grateful that I’d inherited a decent singing voice from my mother. At least I didn’t sound like a cat being strangled when I tried; the one time I overheard my father attempt to sing, I half-thought that someone had let a merperson loose in the manor bathroom. Before that, I’d always assumed that the reason he didn’t ever join in when me and my mother sang was solely social convention and misplaced pride, and while there was definitely an element of that, I couldn’t help but be glad he didn’t try to screech along- then again, that was my father through and through; if he wasn’t good at something, then he would delegate or avoid it so people didn’t find out that he was less than flawless. Fat lot of good that did him.

Both of my parents had tried to get me to return to the manor over the past few months between the trials and our estrangement. They were both on house arrest, mother for two years and father for forty, but I made it very clear I would never step foot in there again. I had been lucky at my trials- a magic restriction (only level-one spells, so nothing harmful, meaning really I could do nothing more than simple household spells, vanishing spells, and generally not much beyond second year level stuff, not that I minded- I barely used my wand preferring to do most things the muggle way these days) for five years and parole for ten, thanks to Harry Potter’s testimony. I was thankful, but being even further indebted to him… well, it wasn’t an ideal situation. As if being in love with him since first year wasn’t bad enough, now I had layers upon layers of indebtedness tying us together. But, I’d take the debts and my life as it is over what could have been.

As it stands, my life was, well. It most certainly wasn’t perfect, but it was a damn sight better than I’d ever expected to have as the war was raging- to be fair, though, I’d not expected to live through the war at all. So, having not only lived through the war but being essentially free after it was far more than I’d ever expected. So, my little muggle flat, my already rather extensive record collection, my new clothes (good god, why on earth didn’t wizards wear jeans?!) and my newfound obsession with takeout (seriously, why didn’t the wizarding world have takeout? House elves were brilliant and all, but they were also far more limited than I’d found muggle takeout to be) were all rather wonderful in comparison to the life I’d expected to lead if I even survived the war.

Granted, I didn’t have any friends anymore. Well, there was Pansy, but she had taken off to the continent with her half-veela girlfriend as soon as the war ended, and once-fortnightly phone calls could barely count as a raring social life, could they? So, no friends, no job, honestly not much to pass the time outside of smoking, listening to music and reading books (and why hadn’t anybody ever told me that muggle books could be so interesting? Even their poems were better. I mean, wizarding literature was _fine_ , but it certainly was no Oscar Wilde or Virginia Woolf.

Oscar Wilde was actually, in a round-about way, the reason for my estrangement from my parents. Upon first reading _A Picture Of Dorian Grey,_ I had thought that my mother may enjoy it, in spite of it’s queer overtones, but once she had read it, her and my father both tried to encourage me away from muggle literature, particularly the queer authors I so enjoyed. When I stood my ground for probably the first time ever against them, an entire argument broke out which ended with me screaming at them that I was gay and would continue to read authors like me, and them denouncing me as their son.

So, there I was. Parentless for the first time, more-or-less friendless, living life as a muggle and actually enjoying it, laid out on my big, plush sofa in the same overly large fleet foxes t-shirt I’d been wearing all week and a pair of tight black boxer shorts, smoking what was probably my fourth cigarette of the day and looking down at the tattoo I’d given myself earlier in the day on my ankle (I certainly wasn’t an artist, but I could do well enough that I quite liked the slightly-dotty little ferret I’d doodled. I’d laughed as I started it, but the fact is that regardless of what fake-Moody had done, ferrets always had been and always would be my favourite animal. I named my tattoo Sufjan.) when there was a knock at my door. Definitely not something I had ever experienced in the almost five months I’d lived here. I groaned and plodded barefoot to the door, my cigarette dangling from my lips as I unlatched it to reveal… Potter. Definitely not someone I was expecting. I froze, but the other man didn’t even look at me before he started talking.

“Mate, would you mind turning down your music or at least changing the track? I’m not being funny, but its been three hours and if I hear The Only Thing play one more time, I’m gonna lose my marbles.” He finally looked up and saw me frozen, his face twisting with shock. “Malfoy?”


	2. POV Harry

My new flat was brilliant. It was small enough to be cosy but not cramped, it was decorated plainly but nicely, and best of all, it was all mine.

I’d been staying at the Burrow since the war ended, but honestly it was stifling. I loved the Weasley’s, I really did, but I never got a minute alone there, and it was a relief to finally have my own place, where I could sit around in just my boxers and a t-shirt, and I could… well, okay, one of the best parts of having my own place was the freedom to wank whenever I felt like it. It wasn’t something I’d ever had much of a chance to indulge in before, always being in the dorms with the other boys or in the room I shared with Ron, so it was certainly nice to have the privacy for the first time.

Besides wanking, one of my main pastimes became lazing around and thinking about Draco Malfoy. Okay, maybe that sometimes coincided with the wanking, but not always. See, I’d been in love with Malfoy since at least sixth year, or at least, that’s when I figured out that my interest in him was less homicidal and more romantic. Not that I told anyone I even liked guys until the end of the war. But, yes, I spent an awful lot of time thinking about him, which wasn’t exactly new, but it was odd that I didn’t know where he even was. Sometimes I daydreamed about running into him again, maybe even asking him out for coffee, but I doubted it would ever happen.

The only issue with my new flat was my upstairs neighbour. They weren’t terrible, as far as neighbours go, but they had a bad habit of listening to the same songs over and over and over again incredibly loudly when the mood struck them.

Apparently, the mood struck them as I laid down on my sofa, ready to watch a movie. Now, I like Sufjan Stevens as much as the next person, but Jesus Christ. This person started playing The Only Thing before I picked my movie, and 2 hours later when it ended, they were still playing it, over and over and over again. I tried to ignore it, but as I got in the shower, I heard him- and I now knew it was a him- belt out one of the lines loudly. He had a good voice, a little raspy like he smoked a few too many cigarettes, but mostly just a nice, warm baritone.

‘If by the time I get out of the shower he hasn’t stopped, I’ll go up and ask him to turn it down.’ I was unsurprised when over half an hour later, I could still hear the song repeating, so I threw on my comfy black sweatpants and my slightly-too-big The Front Bottoms t-shirt, pulled on some fuzzy socks and the first pair of shoes I found (my worn in black trainers) and headed upstairs, running my hand through my damp hair that was already back to curling and sticking up all over the place.

I knocked on the door, and as soon as it opened I started speaking, not even looking up. “Mate, would you mind turning down your music or at least changing the track? I’m not being funny, but its been three hours and if I hear The Only Thing play one more time, I’m gonna lose my marbles.” I finally looked up and had to wonder whether I was still daydreaming when I saw Draco bloody Malfoy standing there, looking even more gorgeous than ever, his hair a mess and a cigarette hanging from his (soft looking, very kissable) lips. “Malfoy?”


	3. POV third person

“Malfoy?” Harry and Draco stared at one another.

“Potter.” The blond nodded. “I’ll turn it off now, sorry to bother you.”

“I-its okay. I wasn’t expecting to see you here.” Harry flushed, awkward.

“I’ve lived here for a few months now.” Draco turned away and headed back into his living room, switching off his record player before turning back to where Harry was stood, still looking stunned, in his doorway. “If you’re going to gawk at me, you might as well come in for a coffee.” Draco’s voice was his usual drawl, but then he flushed and stuttered out “If-if you like.”

Harry grinned. “I’d love to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they get together in the second work of the series


End file.
